The Annals of Redundancy Annals

Update: The article below is now available in book form. Here’s a sampler:

Ever dig into a book with relish?

Scratch that. Dig into says “with relish.”

Ever dig into a book? The other night, my husband did just that. He had heard good things about it. He couldn’t wait to read it. He adjusted the lights for reading, settled into his recliner, cranked up his feet, and gave the author what every author dreams of: undivided attention. A few pages in, he pitched the book into the recycle bin. Why? Because it was filled with distractingly redundant writing like this:

And yet, the man thought to himself contradictorily…

Double duh! First, the man is thinking to himself. To whom else would he think? We don’t need himself. Second, the man is thinking contradictorily. How else would and yet cross his mind? We don’t need contradictorily. If the author had stopped at “And yet, the man thought,” my husband might have finished the book. And if the author had stopped at “And yet”—giving readers the satisfaction of figuring out that the man is thinking those words—my husband might, by now, be urging this book on his friends.

Eight words. Two words. Eight words. Two words. I could add “hands weighing,” but you don’t need that visual-verbal redundancy: you already picture the hands.

Here’s an example of visual-verbal redundancy that comes straight from my mailbox:

“See inside for details.” Somebody paid to have this line printed. On an envelope. Envelopes, in their very envelopeness, say, I envelop something. Guess where you can find it! Hint: It’s not here on the outside.

I’ve even run into aural-verbal redundancy. I used to work with a woman named Tina whose mother began every phone call this way: “HA-llo. DEE-na. DEES eez your MAH-ther.” Thanks for telling me, Ma. It could have been an impersonator.

We don’t intend to insult readers, so why do we do it? Because we’re thinking about our meaning, not our words. In the great stew of language, words with similar meanings stick together. When we dip into the pot, we often scoop out more than we need.

Every day I gather redundant phrases from TV, radio, the web, books, labels, billboards, conversations—including my part in those conversations. If you’re going to collect something, why not something that costs nothing, requires no space, hurts no one, makes people smile, and offers itself in abundance? This hobby is as easy as picking up bits of gravel from a country driveway, each bit taking on value only because someone noticed it.

Of course, redundancy depends on the context. As technical writer Alex Fornuto says, “There’s always room for argument with these things.” Take live show. Alex notes that if you’re talking to friends about an upcoming performance, all you have to say is the show—your friends know that it’s live. On the other hand, if you’re inviting people over to watch a TV show, say Saturday Night Live, and you want them to know that it’s not a rerun, you might want to say the live show or even the live Live show. Okay, I’m messing with you. You’d never say the live Live show to your friends, no matter how much you might enjoy saying it to yourself.

Here’s another example: whether or not. The or not is “usually superfluous” since “whether implies or not,” as Garner notes [2], but sometimes you need the whole phrase. Take these two sentences:

My friend can’t decide whether to change jobs. [Or not is not needed.]

Whether or not my friend changes jobs, she’ll change the world. [Or not is needed.]

And who would want to remove the brilliant redundancy from Raymond Carver’s short-story (and book) title “Will You Please Be Quiet, Please?”

You get it. Redundancy depends.

So don’t take my list as gospel. To get the most out of it, read it in the spirit of fun in which it was conceived. If the silliness of phrases like armed gunman and boat marina tickles you, you have much to look forward to here. For me, redundancies like these rival Tom Swifties for entertainment value. (Tom Swifties, in case you missed out on them, are intentionally goofy double-whammy statements like “We just struck oil!” Tom gushed.)

Lucky for me—and lucky for you, too, if you also revel in the pleasure that results from encounters with foibled language—redundancies are everywhere.

If this list’s organizational scheme—alphabetical order within parts-of-speech groupings dotted with blatantly unalphabetical thematic or aurally pleasing subgroupings—strikes you as inconsistent, you’re right. When you notice apparent arbitrarinesses or missed opportunities in the arrangement of this list, look for an underlying reason. I mean, look for a reason. I’m not saying that I always had a reason, but hey, why not make a game of it? May your search for meaning, here as in your life, be its own reward.

Think of this list as a panoplous poem, an epic paean to pleonasm (not to be confused with neoplasm). Take turns savoring these luscious rhetorically tautological dainties—scratch luscious—aloud with friends as you sit around a campfire making s’mores, your voices clickety-clacking across the alliterations as you pass the sticky marshmallows. The marshmallows.

change over time; improve over time; increase over time; learn over time; remain relevant over time

choose as one of his picks; consciously choose

circle around; circulate around

classify into groups

collaborate with others

communicate with each other; compete with each other; equal to each other; integrate with each other; interact with each other; interdependent on each other; meet with each other; separate apart from each other

I know, I could have stopped after a few representative examples—I mean, after a few examples. If I had, though, think of the smiles you would have missed. Besides, you’ve just sharpened your eye. The more you spot redundancies, the more you spot redundancies. And that’s no redundancy. But then, that goes without saying.

[9] The idea of posting individual list items to social media came from Listly.com founder Nick Kellet. The title for those postings—”Today’s redundancy of the day”—came from my high-school classmate and fellow wordplay lover Anne Willis Reed.

Melissa, In case you get pinged when I reply to your comment, please email me your last name. I would like to acknowledge you in the book that I’m basing on this blog post. My address: marcia_r_johnstonATmeDOTcom.

David, Your note brings me a smile. I keep returning to this post myself, adding to it regularly as I encounter redundant phrases. I sense a kindred spirit in you. In fact, I just read your blog post “On Editing – Death to Weak Verbs” and commented there. I don’t know if the comment took (it disappeared when I clicked the button), but I trust that it will find its way.

Is big kahuna really a redundant phrase? According to Wikipedia, “Kahuna is a Hawaiian word, defined in Pukui & Elbert (1986) as a “priest, sorcerer, magician, wizard, minister, expert in any profession”.

Can’t you have multiple kahunas (kahunae?) and a “big” kahuna running the show?

Alex, Your question serves as a reminder to consider the context in any writing decision. Most contexts I can imagine for the term “kahuna” would not require the “big.” Even if you had a roomful of kahunae and you wanted the big one to stand up, it seems likely, given the common use of the term, that they would all understand you if you said, “Who’s the kahuna here?” If everybody stood up, then I’d give in and add “big.”

In honor of your thought-provoking question, I hereby declare that every so-called redundant phrase on my list may, at times, have a defensible use. I just ask that writers put their phrases to the Kahuna Test.

Thank you for this. I love the list. And I really appreciated the clarification. I thought of a few examples where one of the listed phrases would be preferable than a shortened version. You’re “declaration” is most appreciated!

I was absolutely astounded by your list of repetitive redundancies and read it all the way to the very end, smiling happily as I completely soaked up every last word, or to put it another way, I liked your list and read it all.

I believe you misfired on the ‘big kahuna’. The list is a keeper, and I can’t express enough my gratitude, but the ‘big kahuna’ appears to be a full-fledged idiom, and not merely a pleonastic collocation. Big Kahuna was the nickname of the leader of a gang of surfers in the film Gidget (1959), whence the phrase entered the language and decided to stay. The unaccompanied ‘kahuna’ is, of course, a Hawaiian priest or expert. A few quick Google searches confirm that this divergence in meaning is reflected in the word’s usage.

Want to write more powerfully? You've come to the right book. Word Up!--an eclectic collection of essays, more inspiration guide than style guide--serves up tips and insights for anyone who wants to write with more umph.

A light look at how we fill our writing, our speech, and our thoughts with needlessly repetitive (okay, just repetitive) words. Includes a list of 750 redundant phrases we hear and use--say it ain't so!--every day.